


Babe, I'm gonna leave you

by lachme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachme/pseuds/lachme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set several months after the events of ep 7.11 ("Adventures in Babysitting") </p><p>When Sam and Dean are called upon once more to help out the teenaged daughter of hunter, they face some hard decisions.<br/>Four chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Dean, you’re not ganking Dick Roman.”

Dean scowled and rattled the gearshift knob of the battered Nissan he was driving in annoyance, and Sam sighed. Since the Impala had been put into storage, they had not stuck with the same car for more than a couple of weeks; the parade of “Not-Baby” cars was just one more reason for Dean to be irritable. “Why not?” He demanded. He didn’t need to look at Sam, he could hear the eye-roll in his brother’s response. 

“Oh, maybe because he’s one of the richest men in the world, and he’s surrounded by security twenty-four/seven? Not to mention he’s a leviathan.”

“Anyone can be got to, Sam. Has Jason Bourne taught you nothing?”

“You’re not Jason Bourne, no matter what your FBI badge says.”

“Whatever.”

The distinctive ring of Dean’s cell provided a welcome interruption to an argument that, in Sam’s opinion, had nowhere to go anyway. Dean fished the phone out of his pocket and thumbed the “talk” button.

“What?” He barked. 

“Dean?” The voice on the line was barely a whisper, but Dean recognized her immediately; it was Krissy, the hunter’s daughter who had called Bobby for help two months ago when her father had disappeared. Together, they had managed to find Krissy’s father and kill the monsters who had taken him, and in the end, Dean had told her to call if she needed anything. His tone shifted instantly to concern.

“Krissy? What’s wrong?” There was a heavy silence, and Dean felt a sinking feeling in his gut as he realized he already knew what she was going to say. 

“Dad’s dead.” 

Dean responded instantly. “Tell me where you are, honey,” he said. He was already pulling the car to the side of the road. Sam watched Dean with sympathy. From the half of the conversation he heard, he was able to put two and two together as well as his brother. 

“Just outside Bozeman,” Krissy whispered, her voice cracking. “Cabin at the end of Simmons Road.”

Dean cupped his hand over the receiver. “How far is Bozeman?” He asked Sam urgently. Sam consulted the map in his head, the one created over a lifetime on the road. “About a hundred and fifty miles,” he replied. 

Dean turned back to his phone. “Krissy, we’ll be there in two hours.”

\-----

 

Simmons Road wound through scrub forest. As it rose, the road gradually went from two-lane black-top to gravel, and by the time the Winchesters reached the ramshackle cabin at the end, it had degenerated into a pair of dirt ruts with thick grass springing up between. When Sam and Dean climbed out of the beleaguered Nissan, they exchanged scowls. They had argued about what they were doing for the first hour of the drive, and had spent the second in strained silence. Sam stayed by the car while Dean approached the cabin. 

“Krissy!” he called out as he climbed the porch steps. “It’s Dean Winchester. And Sam. You here?”

He was greeted by silence. The door was unlocked, and a quick walk-through confirmed that the place was recently occupied, but currently empty. 

“Dean,” Sam called from outside. Dean returned to the porch and looked questioningly at his brother, and Sam gestured to the sky behind the cabin. The cloudless, crystal-blue expanse was stained by a few straggles of smoke, coming from nearby. There was a narrow trail that twisted off through the trees in the direction the smoke came from; it showed the distinct marks of a body being dragged. Sam and Dean headed up the trail.

It ended in a wide sunny meadow, and under any other circumstance, the place would have been delightful; the sun shone down, pale blue butterflies flitted prettily over yellow wildflowers, and a tiny brook gurgled self-importantly as it wound through the clearing. But near the center of the meadow a bonfire was dwindling, crackling lazily while it consumed the last of Krissy’s father’s body. 

The brothers saw Krissy kneeling in front of the fire about a dozen feet away, and Dean felt his throat constrict at the sight of her. The teen knelt with her hands curled on her thighs and her shoulders slumped. Dressed only in a T-shirt and jeans, she was filthy, covered in dirt, ashes, and from the look of it, blood. But the expression on her face was the worst; it held a tight, brittle control that was fierce and incredibly fragile at the same time. Dean recognized her expression from having seen it in the mirror. She seemed to be in shock, and Dean approached her cautiously, not wanting to startle her. 

“Krissy? Honey? It’s Dean. You called me?” He knelt in the dirt beside her. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Krissy stirred as if waking. She continued to stare at the fire as she spoke, her voice flat with exhaustion.

“Vampires. Dad’s been following ‘em for weeks. Guess they found him first.”

Dean swallowed. “How did you find him?”

“When he didn’t come back or call, I had the GPS on his phone turned on,” she replied automatically. Dean nodded appreciatively. He could see where tears had washed trails through the grime on the girl’s face, but her eyes were dry now. “Found him in a ditch just off the highway. Brought him here.”

“How did you get him here?” Dean asked, puzzled.

“Stole a car,” she responded carelessly, and Dean’s admiration went up a notch further. He thought about how it must have been for her, finding her father’s body, carrying him to the stolen car, dragging him out to the meadow. How she must have labored, gathering the wood and wrapping and arranging the body. How it must have felt to light the match. He remembered what a nightmare it had been for him when he had lost his father, and at least he had had Sammy then. Krissy had no one.

“Why didn’t you wait for us?” He asked softly. “We would have helped you.”

“A hunter takes care of their own,” Krissy responded harshly, and swallowed. She finally turned to face Dean, her expression wooden. “My dad taught me . . .” As her voice trailed off, Krissy’s dark eyes widened, and she stared at Dean in shock. 

“He’s gone, Dean,” she whispered, as if she were just learning the terrible fact for the first time. She reached out and grasped the front of his jacket in one grimy hand as if she were reaching for a lifeline, and her next words struck a dreadful but familiar chord in Dean’s memory. “What am I supposed to do?” 

\-----

 

When the bonfire was down to ashes, Dean helped Krissy to her feet. He checked her over visually for injuries; she seemed scraped and bruised but otherwise okay, and he led her away from the clearing, Sam following. The teen was staggering with exhaustion, but she refused to be carried, and Dean had to content himself with hovering uselessly beside her as she limped back to the cabin. While Krissy showered and changed her clothes, Sam and Dean moved aimlessly around the sparsely furnished living room and renewed their earlier argument. 

“It’s not like she’s a stray kitten, Dean. We can’t just keep her.”

“Yeah, well we can’t just leave her here, either.”

“So what’s the plan? Track down her family?”

“If we can, yeah. If she’s got any.”

“And what if she doesn’t? What do we do then?”

Dean wandered over to the front window and stared out, unseeing. “Cross that bridge later.”

“And in the mean time?” Sam persisted. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve kind of got our plates full here just staying ahead of the big mouths.”

“So?”

“So we don’t have time for babysitting hunter kids.”

“What do you want to do, then, huh, Sam? Drop her off at the nearest Greyhound station?”

Sam hesitated. “We could call Child Protective Services.” 

Dean whirled around and stared at his brother, stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sam flushed, but refused to be derailed. “Dude, that’s what they’re there for, helping kids who need help.”

“I can’t believe you are even suggesting this,” Dean murmured, running his hand over his face in bewilderment. “You just wanna turn her over to the cops?”

Sam scowled. “Not the cops, Dean—“

“Cause if so, I need to have another talk with Death about your soul installation; seems he missed a spot.”

“Bite me, Dean. I’m thinking about what’s best for Krissy.”

Dean looked contemptuous. “Yeah? Cause it sounds like you’re thinking about what’s convenient.”

“Fine, Dean, let’s just take her with us, then,” Sam responded angrily, throwing up his hands. “How long do you figure it’ll take us to get her killed, anyway? Months, weeks, or days?” Sam looked thoughtful, pretending to calculate. “I mean, Bobby managed to survive us for a couple of years, but he had a lot more experience than most—“

Dean flushed. “Don’t you dare talk about Bobby.”

“Why not?” Sam sneered. “Don’t like to think about our latest victim?”

Sam should have seen it coming (he’d asked for it, after all) but he only managed to partially duck Dean’s fist. The blow glanced across his cheekbone and made his ears ring, but he was able to keep to his feet. Dean stood in front of him, fists clenched and glowering, ready to get into it, but Sam just waved him away wearily and sat down on the decrepit sofa. He touched his cheekbone gingerly. “So what do you want to do?” 

Dean looked disappointed at being denied a physical outlet for his frustration; going a few rounds with Sammy, regardless of the outcome, would have made him feel much better about the situation. 

“We try to find her family,” he sighed. “And if we can’t . . . well, we’ll figure something out.”

“You don’t have to figure anything out.”

Sam and Dean looked over at Krissy, who was standing in the doorway. Her hair was still damp from her shower and pulled back in a pony-tail, and she was dressed for travel, much as the Winchesters were; jeans, boots, layered shirts and a jacket. She was pale and there were heavy circles under her eyes, but she was calm.

“Thanks for coming, guys, but I can take care of myself,” she said firmly. She raised her chin and looked Dean squarely in the eyes. 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “So why did you call?” he asked. 

Krissy hesitated. “I figured I should let someone know, that’s all,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t know any other . . . anyway, I wasn’t looking for . . . I don’t need anyone’s help.” She lowered two bags to the floor as she spoke, and one landed with a distinctively solid sound both men recognized as a weapons cache. “I'm good. No worries.”

“Well, some worries,” Dean countered. “You got family you can go to?”

“Yeah,” Krissy replied, but her gaze fell from Dean’s. “My aunt lives in Tacoma. I can stay with her.”

“Yeah, try again,” Dean answered dryly. “I lie for a living, honey.”

The teen pressed her lips tightly together and returned his look coolly. “So?”

“So I know you’re lying,” Dean said, belaboring the point. “You don’t have any relatives, do you?”

Krissy’s silence confirmed Dean’s statement, and he and Sam exchanged glances. “Do you have anyone else, maybe?” Sam asked. “A friend of your . . . your family?”

Krissy swallowed. “There was Bobby,” she choked out, “but—“

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said hurriedly. What happened to Bobby was a subject he wanted to avoid if at all possible. “So, Krissy—“

“Don't call me that!” she rapped out, looking Dean fiercely in the eye once more. “I don't want to be called that anymore. Call me Kris.” 

“Oh. Okay, Kris it is,” Dean agreed. “So what are your plans?”

Kris shifted restlessly, but didn’t answer; it was clear she had not thought that far ahead. “I told you. I can take care of myself,” she declared, crossing her arms defensively. Dean held his hands up in a placating gesture. 

“I understand,” he replied. “When I was fourteen—“

“I’m fifteen,” Kris snapped. 

“Your . . . I thought you said you were fourteen.”

“My birthday was last week,” she mumbled. Her chin began to tremble, and as she turned away, Dean could see the tears welling in her eyes. Kris rubbed her face briskly for a few moments, and when she turned back, her eyes were red, but dry. “Anyway, I’m fine.”

Dean heard a small snort of disbelief, and he turned to frown at his brother, who was shaking his head.

“Frickin’ eerie,” Sam mumbled. He looked sharply at the girl. “Kris, have you ever heard of the Supernatural books?” he asked. 

Kris looked puzzled as Dean shot Sam a look of annoyed embarrassment. Dean hated Chuck's books; he loathed that his most private, innermost thoughts and feelings during some of the worst times of his life were considered entertainment, on display for the entire world to see (even if most of them had never bothered to look, although that was totally beside the point. Whatever.)

“No,” Kris responded, and Sam shrugged and smiled reassuringly. “Never mind. Not important.”

“You should come with us,” Dean said abruptly, looking down at the bags at Kris’s feet. “Not permanently, just . . . we’ll help you get wherever you need to go.”

Sam’s lips tightened a fraction at Dean’s offer. Then he gave a brief nod. “Yes, you should,” he agreed, meeting Kris’s eyes. 

The girl looked back at him, frowning uncertainly. Sam could see her weighing their possible intentions towards her in her mind, and he kept his expression calm and impersonal. Dean was tensely watching them both, waiting to see what happened. After a few moments, Kris seemed to come to a decision; her shoulders fell, and relief washed across her pale face. “Okay.”

It didn’t take long to empty the fridge of its perishable contents and shut down everything in the cabin. Outside, Dean watched as Kris cast one last long look in the direction of the clearing. Then she turned away, her expression stoic, but her eyes telling the truth of her grief. The teen tossed her bags on the floor in the back of the Nissan and climbed wordlessly in. She was asleep almost as soon as the gravel of Simmons Road turned back into asphalt. 

As they approached I-90, Sam glanced at Dean and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. 

“So where now, Daddy Warbucks?”

Dean frowned. “Daddy who?” he growled.

“Never mind,” Sam replied. He could hardly expect Dean to get Broadway references. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

Dean gave the briefest of smirks. “Actually, I had an idea, smartass.”

“Should I be afraid?”

“Maybe.”

Dean just continued to drive, refusing to elaborate, and Sam made a visible show of controlling his temper before he spoke again.

“Where are we going, Dean?” Sam asked, keeping his voice deliberately mild.

Dean stared at the road in front of him.

“Lawrence.”


	2. Chapter 2

They left Bozeman at twilight, traveling east. 

“Lawrence is around twelve hundred miles,” Sam observed after a while. Dean nodded. “What’s your plan? We stopping for the night, or driving through?”

“I was just figuring on driving through,” Dean replied. Mindful of the sleeping girl in the back of the car, the brothers kept their voices pitched low, just barely above a whisper.

"Krissy’s—“

“She prefers ‘Kris’, dude,” Dean interrupted. 

Sam turned and pinned Dean with a withering glare. “Oh, HER preference you can remember,” he groused. “ _Fine. Kris_ has had a rough day, Dean. She’d be better off sleeping in a bed tonight.”

“She’s a hunter’s kid. She probably feels safer in a car, anyway. Besides, how’s it gonna look, the two of us checking into some sleazy dive with a fourteen-year-old girl?”

“She’s fifteen.”

Dean scowled in exasperation. “Thank you, Sam! Can we get back on point? It’s gonna look weird, and we do not need to be attracting attention. We drive through.”

Sam nodded, conceding the argument. “Okay. But it’s at least eighteen hours, dude. Let me do some of the driving.”

Dean grunted his agreement. “Like I want to be driving this piece of crap, anyway.”

\-----

 

They stopped for gas around midnight, and Sam went inside for provisions while Dean refueled the piece of crap. As he was starting the pump, Dean noticed his breath pluming out from his mouth. He glanced around himself, momentarily alarmed, before he realized it was just cold outside. He smiled for a moment at his own paranoia, but his smile faded as he looked through the back window at Kris, asleep in the back of the car. She was curled up like a kitten, he face pressed against the back of the seat, her head pillowed on her jacket. He frowned, and then glanced around the parking lot.

When Sam came back out to the car, he found Dean leaning over the back seat, cautiously spreading a red and black Navaho blanket over Kris. She moved restlessly as he tucked the blanket around her, but didn’t wake. Sam gave Dean a peculiar look as he slid into the passenger seat. 

“Where’d you get the blanket?”

“Stole it.”

“I thought you were worried about attracting attention.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “It’s cold outside,” he said defensively. “She needed it.”

Sam snorted. “When did you become such a Mother Hen?”

“Shaddup.”

\-----

 

Sam fell asleep shortly after they left the gas station, and didn’t wake until almost four. Dean had been driving for almost ten hours by that time after having been up most of the night before, and he was finally tired enough to surrender the wheel without complaint. As Sam pulled the car smoothly back onto the highway, Dean slumped against the window of the passenger seat and fell asleep almost instantly. 

When the sun rose around five-thirty, there was finally enough light for Sam to see that Kris was awake. She was sitting up in the middle of the seat, her eyes wide and disturbingly blank. 

“Morning,” he said softly, smiling into the rear view mirror. Kris seemed to shake herself, and the blankness faded. “Morning,” she replied. She looked out the windows. “South Dakota?”

Sam nodded. “You hungry?” he asked. 

Kris considered his question. “I could eat,” she agreed, and Sam nodded again. 

“Next exit, then.”

Sam barely found space for the Nissan in the parking lot of a little mom and pop diner set just off the highway. It didn’t look like much on the outside, but the packed parking lot at such an early hour was a solid testament to the quality of the food they served. 

“Should we wake him?” Kris whispered, jerking her head in Dean’s direction. 

Sam shrugged. “If we wake him, he’s gonna bitch, and if we don’t wake him, he’s gonna bitch. It’s a lose/lose scenario,” he said, but there was an affectionate smile on his face as he spoke. “I’ll leave it up to you.” Sam climbed out of the car and stretched his long limbs as he strode across the crowded parking lot towards the little diner. 

Kris leaned over the back of the seat and shook Dean’s shoulder, and he jerked himself awake.

“What?” He twisted in his seat and stared groggily at the girl. Kris smothered a smile at his appearance. Dean’s hair was flattened on the side where he had been snoring against the window, and there was a tiny silver trail of drool that ran from the corner of his mouth down to his jaw. Seeing the direction of Kris’s amused gaze, Dean self-consciously rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair, destroying the evidence.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” she said. 

Dean sputtered indignantly as she exited the back seat of the Nissan and went inside the restaurant. “You’re the . . . sleeping . . . whatever,“ he muttered, trailing off sheepishly. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and followed her inside. 

“It’s not even six,” Dean complained as he slid into the booth next to Sam. “Ya couldn’t let me sleep a little longer?” Kris and Sam shared a brief smile before they both returned their attention to the menu. 

Outside the minimum of conversation required, Sam and Dean were habitually silent during breakfast, usually using the time for reading, research, or quiet reflection (also known as a hang-over.) Kris seemed to share their preference, and the meal passed quietly. She excused herself to use the restroom when Dean rose to pay the check, and was waiting patiently by the door for him by the time he was finished. 

Dean could feel the girl’s gaze following him, and he felt a twinge of guilt. He knew how lost she was, how desperate she must be for anything that promised solidity and safety in the maelstrom that was her life, and he wanted to help her, he truly did. But he couldn’t allow her to pin her hopes on him. He knew he would only disappoint her in the end, like he’d disappointed everyone else. Kris was just a kid; she needed more, deserved so much more than he could ever give her. She was smart; she could go to college, she could have a future, she still had a chance to choose another path. And just being in his company right now was actively endangering her life. 

He just hoped to hell things would go according to plan.

\----- 

 

When they left the diner, the silence in the car stretched out as all three became lost in their thoughts. Kris’s, as always, went to her father. He had been her entire world, and she was still unable to fully grasp the magnitude of her loss. Sam and Dean’s thoughts were not much more cheerful. Dean couldn't stop thinking about how strange it felt, sailing past the Sioux Falls exit without stopping. For years, Bobby’s place had been the closest thing Sam and Dean had ever had to a home; now Bobby was gone, and his home was ashes. As for Sam, passing Sioux Falls reminded him of their own recent loss and brought on another one of his hallucinations. As Lucifer leaned close and murmured obscene suggestions in his ear, Sam closed his eyes and ground his thumb down into his scarred palm, and although Dean said nothing, his mood grew noticeably darker. Eventually, Sam drifted off to sleep, and Dean was relieved to see the tension slowly fade from his brother’s face. It was another hour before Kris finally spoke.

“So, where are we headed?” she asked. 

Dean glanced in the rear view mirror. “Lawrence.”

“What’s in Lawrence?”

“An old family friend. I’m hoping she can help us out.”

“Is she a hunter?”

“No. She’s a psychic.”

Kris looked skeptical. “If you don’t want to tell me, just say. There’s no such thing as real psychics.”

Dean shook his head. “Oh, look who knows so much!” he snarked, and Kris’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. Did he really just quote _The Princess Bride_?

“Some psychics are real, believe me, kid,” Dean assured her.

Kris bristled at his tone. “Quit calling me kid, Dean. Don’t forget, I saved your—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’m not forgetting any time soon. Quit bragging.”

“How is this psychic supposed to help us, anyway?” Kris asked, leaning on her arms against the back of the front seat. “Is she going to help us track down the vamps that killed Dad?”

“Sam and I are gonna take care of those vamps, Kris, I promise you,” Dean replied, avoiding the real question. 

Kris glanced from Dean to Sam, asleep in the passenger seat, then back to Dean. She frowned.

“You’re dumping me there,” she said. There was no question in her tone, only a wooden certainty. 

“It’s not like that, Kris,” Dean protested weakly. “It’s dangerous for you if you stay with us.”

Kris didn’t appear to be interested in the rest of what Dean was saying. She sat back, and then slid across the seat until she was sitting against the driver's side window, behind Dean. She stared listlessly out the window at the passing fields for a moment, and then fished her iPod out of her pocket, her blank expression failing to conceal the bitterness in her eyes. 

Dean tried to explain. “There are these . . . _things_ that are after Sam and me, and they make a nest of vamps look like a basket of kittens. We don’t want—“

“—Whatever.” Kris slipped her earbuds into her ears and closed her eyes, and any further attempts Dean made at small talk were met with silence. 

Dean felt guilty and annoyed at the same time. He was annoyed mostly because he didn’t know why he felt so guilty. He was doing the right thing, dammit. He’d be damned—again—before he let any other innocents die because of him. When they stopped for lunch, Kris followed Sam and Dean into the restaurant docilely enough. But Dean sulked through most of the meal, and when Sam tried to engage Kris in conversation, her monotone, monosyllabic responses were somehow worse than her earlier silence. Sam glanced back and forth between Dean’s morose scowl and Kris’s stony frown, a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. When Dean noticed his brother’s amusement, his scowl deepened.

“Something funny, Sasquatch?” he snapped.

Sam just shrugged, his eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Not a thing.”

“Just go pay the check,” Dean growled. Sam picked one of the mints off the little check tray and carried the check to the front. Dean took a mint as well, and then pushed the last across the table towards Kris. She stared down at the candy. 

“I’d be a big help to you, you know,” she blurted out. “My Dad taught me everything he knew. I can do a lot; I wouldn’t be a burden.” She continued to stare down at the table top, her expression calm, but Dean could see the girl’s anxiety in the whiteness of her knuckles as she clutched the edge of the table.

“I’m great at research, and I have my Dad’s access to all his hunter databases.” Kris’s eyes flicked up nervously to Dean’s face, but he was looking away from her, his expression grim. She looked back down and continued, her voice shaking. “I can do do field dressings, and pack salt rounds, and I can clean your guns and keep your knives sharp. And I’m a great shot, too. Last practice, I bulls-eyed the target nineteen shots out of twenty.”

“That’s really good, Kris,” Dean said quietly. Kris looked up at him, and her chin trembled. 

“But you’re still leaving me behind.”

Dean looked across the crowded restaurant at his brother, who was waiting patiently at the register. “Ya know, Sam escaped this life, once,” he said. His eyes widened, remembering. “He was so damned smart. He got himself a full ride to Stanford; he was gonna be a lawyer. He was gonna be . . . I don’t know. Happy. And I took that away from him.” He rubbed his mouth with one hand, and sighed. “And now it’s too late for him. And it’s my fault.” There was a faint glimmer of tears in Dean’s eyes, and he smiled sadly. “If I could go back to before I got Sam from Stanford, and do it differently . . . I would. In a heartbeat.” 

He looked intently at the girl across from him. “I ruined Sammy’s life. I won’t ruin yours, too.”

Kris stared back at Dean, her frustration written across her face. “I was wrong, Dean. You’re not a hypocrite. You’re an idiot.”

Dean grimaced and gave a reluctant laugh. “That seems to be the majority opinion.”

\-----


	3. Chapter 3

Kris had not spoken to either Winchester since they had left the last diner, but she was having little difficulty making her opinion of them clear. She had abandoned her tactic of ignoring them in order to vent some of her frustrations, albeit silently. Now every time Dean looked in the rear view mirror, he found Kris glowering back at him, sullen resentment crinkling her brow and making her mouth tighten in a ridiculous fashion that would have made him laugh under other circumstances. As it was, after half an hour of it, Dean longed to be ignored again. He thought about making one of his patented Dean Winchester wiseass remarks to lighten the mood, but the last death-glare the girl gave him made all the spit dry up in his mouth before he could speak. The venom in her expression made him suddenly uneasy, and he coughed into his fist.

“Christo,” he muttered, checking the mirror for a reaction. Kris gave a snort of disgust from the back seat while Sam smiled to himself. Kris had directed a fair share of her contempt at Sam as well, but Sam’s mastery of the bitchface had made him immune to the bitchfaces of others. He met the girl’s angry looks with nothing but patience and compassion. 

It was around two in the afternoon when they hit the Lawrence city limits. 

“Doesn’t look like she moved, Dean,” Sam commented, reading from his phone. “Think you can still find it?” Dean’s only response was a small noise of contempt, as if Sam was an idiot for even asking the question. He found his way unerringly through the city streets and was soon pulling up to the curb in front of a small, peeling Victorian in a quiet neighborhood. Kris sullenly followed Sam and Dean up the sidewalk. Her gaze swept critically over the house while she absently toyed with the earbuds of her iPod. 

“Shouldn’t we have called first, Dean?” Sam muttered as they mounted the steps of the front porch. The front door of the house was open, and from the porch they could see through the rusty screen door into the white-walled interior.

“She’s a psychic, dude,” Dean whispered in response. As Sam raised his hand to knock, a soft but imperative voice called out from inside.

“Sam and Dean! Don’t just stand there, come inside. And bring that young lady with you.”

Dean smirked at Sam as he pulled open the screen door, and they went inside the house, Kris close behind. 

“Come on through; I’m on the back porch,” the voice informed them. They wandered from the plain waiting room in front to the much homier sitting room, and then continued through the kitchen to the screened-in back porch at the rear of the house. Heavy vines ran riot over the lattice that covered two sides of the small enclosure, and the hot mid-day sun filtered through the leaves and filled the space with a cool, green light. An old-fashioned bench swing hung from rusty chains on one side of the porch, and Missouri Mosley sat at a table on the other side. As her guests entered, she planted a cane firmly between her knees and pulled herself to her feet, grimacing. 

“Well, come over here and let me look at you!” she demanded, facing the brothers. 

Sam looked at the cane she was leaning on, a troubled expression on his face. “Are you okay?” he blurted out, forgetting the pleasantries in his concern. Missouri just smiled.

“Nothin’ but a little arthritis pain,” she replied easily. She reached out and took his hand. “Pain’s just the price we pay for livin’, Sam. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I, honey?” Sam blushed and shrugged, then allowed himself to be pulled in for a brief hug. 

“Hey, Missouri,” he smiled. “It’s good to see you again.” Missouri then turned to his brother and frowned.

“And you. You lied to me, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s expression was both confused and guilty. “What? I never—“

“I told you boys not to be strangers,” Missouri scolded him, “And you said you wouldn’t. How long ago was that?”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled sheepishly. Missouri always had an uncanny knack for making him feel like a five-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Missouri frowned a moment longer, and then softened. 

“Hmph. Well, come here,” she said, and pulled him into an embrace. Dean bent and returned the hug awkwardly, and Missouri pulled his head down to hers. 

“You did the right thing, boy,” she whispered softly in his ear. “Proud of you.”

Dean was astonished. Gratitude and relief swept across his face as Missouri smiled her approval at him. Then he quickly schooled his features to face the others as Missouri turned to Kris, who had been watching the exchange with a stony expression. 

“Now let me see this pretty young lady,” Missouri said. She smiled at Kris, who gazed blandly back.

“You’re Kris, I know. And I’m Missouri. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Kris's expression was carefully neutral. “Hey,” she responded. Her voice was monotone, giving nothing away, and Missouri’s expression softened once more. 

“I’m so sorry about your dad, honey,” she said, her voice rich with compassion. “He loved you very much, I can tell.” 

Scorn flitted briefly across the girl’s face. “Cause you’re psychic, right?” she asked. Missouri just laughed. 

“No, Kris; I see it in your face,” she replied. She reached out and touched the girl’s cheek. “It’s written all over you, plain as day—you were greatly loved.” 

Kris stepped back quickly. Grief filled her dark eyes, followed by outrage; how dare this stranger talk to her about her dad as if she knew him? But as she saw the kindness in the other woman’s face, her anger swiftly faded, leaving her suddenly bereft and exhausted. Kris had never realized that being alone could be such hard work, but then; she’d never been alone before now. 

Missouri looked up at the Winchesters and settled back into her rattan chair with a sigh. “Well now. Dean, go in the kitchen; in the fridge there’s a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade. Sam, on the kitchen table there’s a tray with some glasses and some cookies,” she informed them. “You boys bring those things out here, and Kris, honey, you come sit beside me and we’ll talk.” She patted the chair beside her and smiled encouragingly. 

Kris reluctantly slunk over to the chair Missouri offered and sat down while Sam and Dean went obediently into the kitchen. She regarded Missouri warily. A sound of muted voices came from inside the house, and Missouri got a peevish look on her face. 

“You keep your hands off that beer, Dean Winchester!” she called out. “You’ll drink lemonade with the rest of us!” She waited a moment, then smiled conspiringly at Kris and raised her voice again. “And you watch your mouth in my house! Don't make me get my spoon!” A dead silence greeted her last remark. Kris smothered a smile behind her hand, but Missouri caught the gesture and felt relieved. This girl was lost and clearly in pain, but she wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t be reached. She could be helped, if she allowed herself to be. 

Sam and Dean returned from the kitchen. Dean looked chastened by Missouri’s reprimands, and Sam was grinning broadly at his brother’s obvious discomfort. They set their respective assignments on the table and sat down while Missouri filled glasses and passed the plate of cookies around. 

“It’s nice to have young folks around again,” She commented, handing Kris a glass of lemonade. “This place has been too quiet since my niece Violet moved out.”

“I never knew you had a niece,” Sam said conversationally, and helped himself to a cookie. “And she was staying with you here?” He and Missouri exchanged glances; clearly, Sam could see in which direction the conversation was headed, and he was eager to help.

“Like you could have known, suck-up,” Dean grumbled around a cookie. He jumped when Missouri reached out and rapped him sharply on the wrist. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she said. Dean rubbed his wrist, a wounded expression on his face, while Missouri turned back to Sam. “Violet is my sister’s youngest girl; she’s been stayin' with me since she started at KU three years ago. Her folks don’t have a lot of money, you know, so I was glad to help out and have her stay here. Ever since my own kids left the nest, I’ve hardly known what to do with myself in this big ol’ house; it was nice to have the company.”

Sam nodded understandingly and glanced at Kris. Kris was staring down at the plate in front of her, but there was a hungry look in her expression as she listened to Missouri talk that had nothing to do with the cookies there. ‘Please, let this work,’ he thought to himself. Missouri continued. 

“Violet was a big help to me, too,” Missouri said. She looked directly at Kris when she spoke. “My arthritis can get pretty bad sometimes. One thing that girl isn’t is lazy. Shoppin' and laundry and such; she earned her keep. Of course I’m happy to help her and her folks, but I don’t offer no charity.” Missouri sighed and took a sip of her lemonade. “Then two months ago, she and that boy Harmon she’s been seein’ the past year, they decide they can’t wait ‘til graduation, and they run off and get married!” She shook her head. “Love makes people take big leaps sometimes. But they’re both good kids. If they’re patient with each other, they’ll be happy.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Kris said quietly. 

“I expect you do, honey,” Missouri replied calmly. “I’m offerin' you a home with me, if you want it. Room's all ready for you.”

Kris frowned. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” 

“And I’m not offerin' to,” Missouri answered her. “We’d just being helpin' each other out; that’s what good folks do.” Kris gazed uncertainly at the older woman. “Lawrence High is right next to the KU campus, and a lot of the kids there are able to start takin' their college prerequisites while they finish high school. I could take you down there for testin' next week, if you like. And those Jayhawk alumni, they love givin' out scholarship money to smart local students.”

“I’m not local.”

“If you lived here, you would be.”

Kris stared at Missouri, her expression doubting. “What if I didn’t like it here?” she asked, raising her chin defiantly. 

Missouri met her, look for look. “Do you see any bars on these windows? I don’t keep no prisoners here.” 

Kris regarded Missouri quietly. She glanced at Sam, who smiled encouragingly, and then looked at Dean. 

“This is what you think I should do, isn’t it?” she asked him. Dean nodded seriously. 

“Yeah, it is,” he said. His voice lowered. “I remember the look on your face that night, when we talked about Sam going to college,” he reminded her. “I could tell you wanted that, too. You can have that here.”

Kris looked away from Dean as she stood up. “Sure,” she said softly. “It’s not that you want to get rid of me or anything. You’re just looking after my best interests, right?” Her expression was bitter as she went swiftly into the house, and a moment later, they heard the front door slam. Missouri reached out and poked Dean in the arm. 

“Well, don’t just sit there, fool!” she said. “Go talk to her!”

Dean looked pained. “Why does it always have to be me?” he grumbled, but he was already rising to follow. Sam and Missouri watched him go. 

“Have you noticed that they’re practically the same person?” Sam marveled aloud, smiling. “All Kris is missing is a Y chromosome and a leather jacket.” Missouri eyed Sam coolly. 

“Don’t you dare tease him about this, Sam Winchester,” she warned. “Dean feels for that child, and your brother needs to have people to care about. You of all people should know that by now.”

Sam’s smile faded, and he just looked sad. “You’re right," he said quietly. "I should know.”


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Dean made it to Missouri’s front door, Kris was already in the back seat of the little Nissan, gathering her few possessions. 

“Kris, everything’s gonna be okay,” said Dean calmly, as he approached the angry teen. She whirled around and stared at Dean as if she considered him insane, or worse, stupid. 

“Why are you saying that?” she exclaimed. “You don’t know! You have no idea!" She turned away. "And you don’t care, either.” 

“That’s not true,” Dean replied sharply. “I’ve told you—“

“Yada-yada-yada,” Kris scoffed. “People don’t leave because they care, Dean. People leave because they DON’T care.”

Dean threw his hands in the air and closed his eyes. “Fine,” he breathed, giving in. He sounded completely defeated. “Believe what you want, Kris.” He turned to go back to the house, and Kris found her eyes suddenly stinging with unshed tears. 

“Wait!” she gasped, her voice rough with repressed emotion. She caught Dean by the sleeve, and he looked back at her hopefully. He liked Kris, and didn’t want her to hate him. Kris took a few deep breaths, but she didn’t release her grip on Dean’s sleeve. 

“You know, there are other things I can do for you,” she said.

Kris’s voice was so soft when she spoke that Dean didn’t think he had heard her correctly. “What was that?” he asked, confused, and she blushed. She lifted her hand from his sleeve and hesitated. “I said if you took me with you, I could do things for you,” she said shyly. She pressed her palm tentatively against his chest. “Things you would like.” Dean’s eyebrows flew up in shock as she began to slide her hand down his body, and he quickly caught it with his own. He shook his head at the girl.

“Whoa, whoa, _no way_ ,” Dean said firmly. Kris went on tiptoe and grasped the lapel of Dean's jacket with her other hand, trying to pull his mouth down to hers; her expression was frightened and determined at the same time. Dean grabbed the hand on his lapel as well and pushed Kris back a step, and she froze, staring at the ground. They stood awkwardly on the sidewalk, Dean holding both of Kris’s hands in front of him as if they were a pair of shy students at their first dance class. Dean took a deep breath and kept his voice pitched low. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but he needed to make things absolutely clear. “That’s _not_ gonna happen, Kris. You’re just a kid. I’m sorry.”

Kris tried to tug her hands from Dean’s grasp. Tears ran down her cheeks, unchecked and unheeded, as she finally broke. “Fine, just go then!” she cried out. “Mom left me, and Dad left me—why shouldn’t you leave me, too? Go on, get out of here!” She sobbed aloud, all dignity gone, lost in her misery and grief. Dean reluctantly released her hands and watched helplessly as she covered her face, crying wretchedly. “Why does everybody leave me?” the girl wailed. Her despair made Dean’s throat ache in sympathy. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing!” Dean answered swiftly, his voice anguished. “There’s nothing wrong with you at all, honey.”

“There has to be,” she cried. “Why else would everyone leave me?”

“It’s not like that at all,” Dean denied. He thought desperately; how could he make her understand? “It’s not your fault, Kris. People don’t leave you—“

“They do!” she gasped, sobbing. “Everyone I’ve ever loved—“

“ **No!** ” Dean insisted. He gazed fiercely at the girl, willing her to meet his eyes, to believe him. “People just leave, honey. Everybody leaves everybody.” He shook his head and smiled sadly. “It’s not you, believe me, it’s not. It’s just . . . life. It’s what happens. Crap happens that we can’t control. People we love want different things, or move in different directions, or they die . . . and it’s nobody’s fault.” Dean paused as full comprehension of what he had just said swept suddenly across his face. His eyes widened with realization. “It’s not you, and it’s not me,” he repeated slowly. “It’s just what people do.”

“What difference does it make?” Kris sobbed. “They still leave. Everyone leaves.”

Dean nodded grimly. “Yeah, you’re right. Everyone leaves.” A whirl of conflicting thoughts passed through his mind in a fraction of a second; the people who had failed him in his life, the people he had disappointed, the desperate need in Kris’s eyes. He made a decision. Dean reached out and gently touched the bottom of Kris's chin, bringing her face up; her mouth trembled as she refused to meet his eyes. “But not everyone stays away, Kris," he told her. "Some people come back. **_I_** am coming back.”

Kris was shaking her head even as he spoke. “Don’t say that. My dad said that,” she whispered brokenly. Dean only looked more determined. 

“I’m coming back, Kris. That’s a promise. I’m coming back, and you’re gonna see me again.” The more he spoke, the surer he sounded, and the loneliness Kris was feeling faded just a little. Maybe, just maybe, he was someone she could believe in. She swallowed around her tears.

“You swear?” she whispered. Her voice squeaked, but Dean didn’t tease her; he only nodded gravely. “I swear. I’ll be coming back to check on you, to say hi and make sure you’re doing okay. You haven’t seen the last of me.” He flashed his trademark cocksure grin. “Hell, you’ll probably get sick of the sight of me.” 

“You say that, but . . .” she trailed off miserably, and shook her head once more. 

“Kris, look at me,” Dean said firmly. “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.” He frowned thoughtfully at her, and then reached behind himself and pulled out his automatic. He removed the clip and checked to make sure a round wasn’t chambered, and then returned the clip, flipped on the safety, and held the gun out to Kris. 

“This is my 1911 Colt,” he told her. “It used to be my dad's; he gave it to me when I turned sixteen. Feel the weight.” 

Kris took the pistol and hefted it; it looked very large in her small hands. She sniffled. "My dad had one like this," she whispered. "This one's heavier than his." 

“That’s the nickel plating and the custom ivory grips; makes it heavier,” Dean responded. “Why don’t you look after it for me for a while?”

Kris held the pistol carefully in her right hand, pointed at the ground, while she swiped her left sleeve across her face to dry her tears. She still hadn’t met Dean’s eyes. “You’re giving me your dad’s gun?” she asked Dean, staring at the pistol in her hands. 

“It’s not a gift; it’s a loan,” Dean corrected her gently. “I’m gonna want that back. I just figured you could hang onto it for a while.” He nodded encouragingly. “You could use it for target practice; see if you can’t improve your marksmanship. Nineteen out of twenty—“ he looked skeptical, and the girl scowled.

“Oh, like you could do better,” Kris mumbled.

Dean smothered a small smile. “Hey, when I was fifteen—“

“Like you can remember back that far, old man," Kris said, her eyes rebellious. "Did they even have guns back then, or did you just throw rocks?”

Dean grinned outright at the insult; that was more like it. 

“So, what do ya say?” He asked the girl. “Think you could stand to stay here for a while, go to school, maybe keep Missouri out of trouble?” He could tell from the thoughtful look on Kris’s face that she was seriously considering his suggestion. “You could call me whenever you wanted, you know," he offered softly, "Even if you just wanted to talk.”

Kris finally raised her face and looked at Dean, and he held his breath under the sharp scrutiny of her dark eyes. She seemed to be searching his face for something; what, he didn’t know for sure. But she must have found what she was looking for, because although she said nothing, all the tension in her small frame suddenly dissipated. She reached behind herself and tucked the pistol in the waistband of her jeans, at the small of her back, exactly where Dean had carried it. 

“Okay,” Kris said, her voice still husky. Before Dean could move, the girl grabbed him in a fierce hug, but this time there was no attempt at seduction, only comfort. He put his arms around her and patted her shoulders as she pressed her face against his chest. “Okay,” he agreed. They stood there a few moments more, and then Kris pulled reluctantly away. “Ya know, you stink,” she mumbled, wrinkling her nose. “You need a shower, _big-time_.” 

Dean laughed. “Is it that time of year again?” he replied, and the two of them carried Kris’s bags into the house. 

\-----

The farewells were brief. Kris had recovered from the embarrassment of her emotional breakdown and regained her sense of decorum, so there were no more hugs. Before the Winchesters left that afternoon, Sam spent half an hour with Kris in her new room on her laptop, looking over the University of Kansas website and researching scholarships, while Missouri and Dean not-so-quietly discussed financial arrangements downstairs. After a while, Missouri tired of arguing and put her foot down.

“Dean Winchester, I know exactly how you make money; gamblin’, swindlin’ drunks, and cheatin’ credit card companies, and I don’t want to have nothin’ to do with it,” she declared. “Kris and I are goin’ to manage just fine without your wages of sin.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, Missouri—“

“Don’t you ‘Look Missouri’ me, boy!" she said scornfully. "You just make sure you do a better job of keepin’ promises this time around, you hear me?” Dean looked nettled at her remark, but he nobly swallowed his irritation and changed tacks. 

“Is she really gonna be okay here?” he asked quietly.

Missouri smiled at the worry in his eyes. That’s what she liked about Dean; beneath his smart remarks and his rough exterior, he had one of the most caring hearts she’d ever met. 

“I think she’s goin’ to be just fine, Dean. She’ll do well in school. I just wish I could have met her daddy; the man who raised that little girl must have been somethin’ special.” 

“He was a good man,” Dean nodded. Missouri regarded Dean intently for a moment, making him shift uneasily. What now? 

“Of course, a lot of Kris’s success in school is goin’ to depend on you, Dean,” she informed him. “You got a job to do from now on, remindin’ her.” Dean frowned, puzzled.

“What am I supposed to remind her of?” he asked.

“Every time you come back and keep your word, you’ll be remindin’ her that it’s okay to trust people. She’s goin’ to need that,” Missouri told him. She raised one eyebrow. “You up to the job?”

Dean swallowed once and nodded. “Yeah.”

Missouri nodded as well and looked pleased. “Good. You just make sure you keep your word, Dean. Because ten years from now, you’re goin’ to ask that girl to marry you, you know."

Dean gaped in astonishment at Missouri, who just smiled and patted him affectionately on the cheek. 

"And when you _do_ , you’re goin’ to want her to say **yes.** " 

\-----

The noise of Sam and Kris coming down the stairs snapped Dean out of his reverie. 

“Oh my god, those guys are terrible! I love them!” Kris was giggling. Sam was laughing as well.

“You have to send me that link, Kris; that was awesome,” he said. 

“Friend me on Facebook, and I will.”

Dean gazed wonderingly at the dark-eyed girl for just a moment before he looked away. He moved closer to Missouri, his expression anxious. “All right, I’ll keep my promise to her,” he whispered urgently. “It’s just—“ 

He glanced over his shoulder at his brother and shuddered. 

“ _Please_ don’t tell Sammy,” he begged Missouri. “I’d _never_ hear the end of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing, check out my first novel, published on kindle and available on Amazon--
> 
> http://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Unbroken-ebook/dp/B008OKVXR2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1347426731&sr=8-2&keywords=becoming+unbroken
> 
> It ain't about the Winchesters, but the sex scenes are pretty good, if I do say so myself!


End file.
